


Death Rising

by BnB (The_Third_Time)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alpha Maiev, Alpha/Omega, F/F, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Tyrande, Omega Verse, Omegaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Third_Time/pseuds/BnB
Summary: The lines between Tyrande Whisperwind and the Night Warrior blur.A Tyrande-centric AU of Death Rising, from Maiev’s point of view.Omegaverse. Established Maiev/Tyrande.
Relationships: Maiev Shadowsong/Tyrande Whisperwind
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Death Rising

**Author's Note:**

> **BEFORE YOU READ:**
> 
> 1\. Because it bears repeating: omegaverse.
> 
> 2\. In this AU, Tyrande and Maiev are mates and have been since they first appeared in Warcraft III. I know that changes a lot in the lore and I haven’t decided how much I want to commit to this universe, so for now I either gloss over affected events or don’t mention them at all.
> 
> 3\. I ignore/change most of the canon because I hate it.
> 
> 4\. Shandris is Tyrande and Maiev’s adopted daughter. If you ship Maiev and Shandris, this is probably going to be too weird for you.
> 
> 5\. I hate Maiev’s canon voice. I imagine her voice sounds like Shandris’, but deeper.
> 
> 6\. Tyrande killed Nathanos in Darkshore BEFORE the ritual. She doesn’t need Elune’s help to kill that simp.
> 
> Along with Maiev/Tyrande, I also ship Shandris/Jaina. I’m in WoW omegaverse rarepair hell and this is my hapless attempt at seeking kindred souls.

When the dark skies opened up, they didn’t come for Tyrande. They went after Shandris, to kill, not to capture, and when that failed, when Maiev got in the way, they came for her.

They were fast and strong, stinking of Sylvanas and her borrowed power, now tenfold.

Maiev’s armor had shattered from the blow she took for Shandris, and the next would have surely killed her if not for Tyrande.

Tyrande, who let loose a roar that shook the roots of Nordrassil. Tyrande, who turned the skies even darker, blocking out the sun with the black moon. Tyrande, who laid waste to Slyvanas’ new play things with a smile that Maiev didn’t recognize.

But then it was gone when Tyrande looked at her, saw the mortal wound that she herself hadn’t even begun to feel until her mate pressed a hand on it to staunch the bleeding.

It hurt more than the wound, the power with which Tyrande healed her. It was angry, forceful, the way the wound was closing, nothing like before, when it was gentle and painless, when Tyrande’s eyes were soft and silver, bright like Lady Moon herself.

“That was reckless,” Tyrande said, and Maievlaughed, despite the pain. “Shandris was never in any danger. I wouldn’t have let any harm come to her. You should have stayed back.”

Maiev laughed again. “She’s my daughter, too.”

Shandris, at her side, watched the healing with worry. It was the first time Tyrande attempted to heal since the ritual, and now Maiev knew why. The burn of the power, so much of it and so strong, was more painful than any torture she had endured before. She tried not to show it, but she didn’t fool Shandris, nor Tyrande, who now frowned at her.

“And you are my mate. My stubborn alpha,” Tyrande whispered, quietly and sweetly, and it made Maiev’s heart ache with longing.

That sounded like Tyrande. Tyrande, her mate, her omega. Not the Night Warrior. Not Elune and her fury, endless, growing, and inevitable.

_Please,_ Maiev prayed silently to Elune, begged of her. _Please give her back when this is over._

* * *

Anduin had been taken. So had Jaina. Thrall and Baine as well, if Maiev had to guess. Sylvanas certainly wasn’t being subtle.

They were taken, and there were no casualties, no other targets. Not so with Tyrande. Did Sylvanas want Tyrande to watch her daughter and her mate die first? Revenge, perhaps, for Tyrande killing Nathanos in Darkshore.

What nerve the Banshee had to cry vengeance, after all her transgressions.

Shandris was distraught over Jaina’s disappearance. Maiev suspected there was a reason their daughter had been hesitant to go to Hyjal after Tyrande refused to sign the armistice. She just didn’t think the reason was Jaina Proudmoore herself.

It seemed their daughter had grown fond of the lord admiral. Much too fond, for Maiev’s liking, but that was a discussion with Shandris for another time.

“She’s infatuated,” Tyrande remarked about their daughter. “She’ll go to Stormwind, regardless of what we decide.”

Shandris was still in Hyjal, somewhere with Ash’alah and Jai’alator. But not for long, they both knew. Their daughter never was one to sit idly by. It was one of the things about Shandris that made Maiev proud, but also worried.

“This last missive we received, it’s from Genn Greymane, not the Alliance,” Maiev told her mate. “He’s asking for us, as a friend.”

“Friend,” Tyrande repeated the word, as if to see whether it would suit the old wolf. He and his worgen had been the only ones who helped the kal'dorei take back Darkshore. He also refused to sign the armistice. It seemed her mate had the same thought, because then she said, “We do owe him that much.”

* * *

Stormwind was unhinged with panic and fear. Their so-called king was gone, and now the Scourge loomed near.

What sympathy Maiev didn’t care to spare, Shandris made up for. She saw it in her daughter’s eyes, kind and pure like her mother’s used to be.

When a desperate Argent Crusade scout called out, “General! General Feathermoon!” Maiev stopped Shandris, stepping in front of her.

“This isn’t what we’re here for,” she reminded her daughter. The scout was about to protest, but the human withered under her glare.

Shandris, however, had no trouble challenging her. “But, An’da—“

“Do you, or do you not, want to find the lord admiral?” Maiev challenged back. 

Shandris looked torn, expectedly. She was kind as she was brave, and had never refused anyone in need, but also apparent was her concern - her feelings - for Jaina Proudmoore.

“Shandris.”

That prompted her daughter to action. Shandris apologized to the tired scout and, with lowered ears, followed her to Lion’s Rest, where Genn asked to meet them.

Genn was not alone there. He stood with High Inquisitor Whitemane, Taelia Fordragon, and Mathias Shaw. The man couldn’t look her in the eye then, when his king denied her people aid, and he couldn’t now. He let Genn do the talking, a wise decision.

“Where is Tyrande?” Genn asked, worry in his gravelly voice. “Was she—“

“My mate is in Hyjal,” Maiev told the old wolf. “We agreed it was best that she stay there.”

The few kal'dorei who sought shelter in Stormwind had gone to Hyjal with Tyrande. There would have been nothing to stop her mate from turning Stormwind to ash.

Maiev chose her words carefully, not for the humans’ sake but for Shandris. Her daughter had no inkling of how dark her mother’s heart had become, and Maiev wanted to protect her from that, for as long as she could.

Genn understood. “I see. I’m glad she’s safe.” Then he glanced at Varian Wrynn’s coffin and grimaced. “Those… things came so suddenly. There was nothing I could do.”

“Nor could I,” Taelia admitted, grasping Shandris’ arm. “I was there when the lord admiral was taken. I’m so sorry, Shandris.”

Maiev watched curiously. Her daughter had become quite attached to humans, it seemed, to allow such affection.

“We’ll get her back, Taelia,” Shandris swore, and for the first time, Mathias Shaw lifted his gaze from his feet.

“Does that mean you’ll help us?” he dared to ask, but not so far as to speak Tyrande’s name.

“My mate and I are here for our daughter,” Maiev declared, and it felt good to see Shaw’s crestfallen expression. But unlike his king, she didn’t let him suffer long. “And we are here for our friend,” she said of Genn.

“Thank you.” It was Genn who said it. Shaw seemed too ashamed to.

They talked then, about the Scourge, about Sylvanas destroying the Helm of Domination. There was no doubt where the Banshee was now, and where she had taken Jaina and the others: into the Shadowlands.

“It’s strange she didn’t take Tyrande as well,” Genn said. “I was certain she’d be a target, after what she did to that Banshee’s insect in Darkshore.”

“She was,” Maiev said, and it drew gasps from Genn and Taelia, “but they couldn’t take her.”

Shandris nodded, a haunted look in her eyes. “They were no match for Min’da.”

Maiev fought not to clutch her chest, where the wound had been. It had healed, had already scarred over, but it burned every now and then.

Whitemane, who had been quiet and observing them, finally had something to say. “Then it seems the Night Warrior may be our only hope at defeating the Banshee.” Then the death knight paused. “If she would fight for us.”

* * *

Maiev returned to Hyjal alone. Shandris stayed behind to help contain the Scourge. She knew there was no talking her daughter out of it, not when there was nothing else to do but wait until Bolvar had finally recovered enough to send them into the Shadowlands safely.

She found Tyrande at Nordrassil. Maiev wondered if it brought her mate more pain than comfort. It was home once, before Teldrassil, and it was home again now, though broken and scarred, much as the kal'dorei were now.

Maiev wondered, too, if the world tree, now that it was beginning to heal, somehow soothed the angry, impatient power inside her mate, because Tyrandde seemed more like herself around it, even at night.

Though, she hadn’t heard her mate pray since the ritual.

Tyrande was smiling when she found her, sitting on one of Nordrassil’s branches. The sight reminded Maiev of days long gone, when they were young and in love, chasing each other in Suramar’s forests. Tyrande always won the games they played, always found her first. It was the only time Maiev didn’t mind losing.

“Hello, my alpha. I’ve missed you.”

Tyrande was suddenly in front of her, kissing her. Maiev kissed back in earnest, and with desperation. Tyrande hadn’t touched her, hadn’t wanted her like this since the ritual. They had been apart for centuries before, but it didn’t compare to these last few weeks, when Maiev didn’t know if she would ever have her mate again.

Then she scented it, the reason why, and it was as startling as her mate’s laughter, mirthful and carefree.

Heat. Tyrande was in heat. But she shouldn’t be, couldn’t be. Not in the middle of a war. Not at the end of the world. It was no place for a new life, no place for hope.

“How?” she asked, rasped the word against her mate’s neck as she instinctively sought out her mate mark. “Why? Why now?”

Because of their immortality, heats were few and far between for kal’dorei omegas, and only happened at times of peace, when it was safe to start and have a family. Tyrande has had no such luxury. There was always an invasion to stop or a war to end, and, if neither, she and Tyrande somehow found something to fight about.

Of the two times Tyrande did go into heat, conflict soon followed, and both times, she miscarried. They had been wanting children since they mated, millenia ago, and since they saw what a perfect, wonderful alpha Shandris had grown up to be. But Maiev didn’t think either of them could withstand such a loss a third time, especially not now.

“None of that,” Tyrande crooned in her ear, fingers combing through her hair. “Don’t go there, to all that fear and pain.”

When did her mate remove her helm? Maiev found that she didn’t care, not when Tyrande’s warm breath turned into her lips, trailing along her ear and then down her jaw. Her mate fit so perfectly in her arms, and wondered why she would ever want to be anywhere else. She closed her eyes, breathing deep the scent of heat and omega, and _‘mine, mine, mine’_.

“Be here, with me. I need my alpha. I need my mate.”

Not even Maiev’s warden discipline and control stood a chance. It vanished with those words, with the deep, beckoning purr that followed them. She growled, primal and unrestrained, and bit down on her mate’s neck. Tyrande arched into her, welcoming and eager.

Her mate moaned, “My alpha,” and what a beautiful sound it was.

They rolled on the grass, Maiev’s armor shed piece by piece, until she hovered over Tyrande, naked and panting. Her cock was hard and straining, her knot starting to swell from the scent of her mate’s heat alone.

Tyrande purred in approval, legs parting in invitation.

Maiev was quick to take it, pawing under her mate’s robes, thankful that she didn’t have any armor to deal with. She pushed up the garment, just enough so that Tyrande could wrap her long, strong legs around her. Maiev shuddered when her mate drew her in with equal ease and impatience, marveling at the strength and power of the omega underneath her.

She didn’t fight it, no matter how badly she wanted to touch and taste Tyrande first, to have her palm and lips drenched and slick. Her mate tasted sweeter during her heat, and Maiev craved it, but her mate also had a singular, insistent need when in heat, and that was to have her inside, soon, often, and immediately.

They kissed while Tyrande pulled her in, and continued to, long after she was fully sheathed inside, when she had no further to go. Maiev kept her hips still, flushed against her mate’s, as their kissing turned fevered and bruising. It was almost too much, too good, how greedily her mate’s tight cunt squeezed her.

When Tyrande’s fangs grazed her neck, Maiev began to move, obliging the silent demand. Her thrusts were deep and urgent, the pace that her mate wanted. She touched and tasted what she could of Tyrande, tearing the robes open and kissing down from her mate mark to her breasts.

Tyrande’s hands moved from her hips to the back of her head, tugging her hair and guiding her to a nipple. Maiev eagerly took her mate’s breast in her mouth, biting down gently, careful not to break skin with her sharp teeth.

The sweet sigh of, “Yes,” from Tyrande was reward enough, but then her mate’s cunt suddenly clamped down, wet heat sealing around her cock, and Maiev nearly came undone. She groaned around a mouthful of her mate’s breast and then lavished the other with the same attention.

This time, Tyrande whimpered at her, not out of pain, but because her thrusts had fallen off rhythm. Maiev growled in frustration. Her knot had doubled in size, stopping her from filling her mate completely.

She stopped, nuzzling her mate’s neck in apology, and then reversed their positions. It was how Tyrande preferred to tie with her. On her back now, her mate rode her, starting slow. Maiev had no complaints, not with the vision before her. Tyrande, smiling down on her, framed by the moonlight. It was as if it was the goddess herself about to be joined with her.

She slipped her hand down, finding her mate’s clit. Tyrande inhaled sharply, and then purred when she strummed her clit in time with her rolling hips, quicker now, faster.

Tyrande braced herself, her hand on her chest, right on the wound. It burned, but only briefly, gone when, at last, her mate sank down on her knot. It slid in with ease, and Tyrande seized, on top of her and around her, tight cunt rippling around her cock and knot.

Maiev grasped her mate’s hips, the only thing within reach, and thrust up, despite already being fully sheathed. She came suddenly and harshly, and was almost smothering, how Tyrande took everything she had to give and demanded more. So give she did, until she felt like she was surrendering her very soul, willingly, to her mate.

“My alpha,” Tyrande murmured lovingly. Then, “My love.”

It echoed, and it sounded like someone else.

* * *

When Tyrande’s heat gave them a little respite, they lay under the stars. Maiev, however, was only looking at her mate.

They didn’t suit Tyrande, the dark eyes.

She pressed a hand to her mate’s belly. It was flat, for now. They’d conceive, likely. For as rare as they were, heats always resulted in pregnancy, and she doubted this heat was an exception, despite how unnatural it was. “What will you do?”

Tyrande touched her hand, traced the scars there. “I won’t lose her. Not this time. I swear.”

“But will I lose you?”

Tyrande was silent, and that was her answer.

_You already have._

**Author's Note:**

> An’da = Papa/Father
> 
> Min’da = Mama/Mother*
> 
> *Shandris says minn’do in the game. I went with min’da because it matches an’da.
> 
> If anyone actually enjoyed this enough to want to see a continuation, I’m sorry to say that I can’t make any promises. I have two other stories I’ve been neglecting because WoW’s been taking up all my free time, and that’s only going to get worse when Shadowlands comes out next week.
> 
> Maybe, though. After all, this one-shot happened because of that Tyrande cutscene.
> 
> Edit: Realized I got the title wrong. That's what I get for paying more attention to Wowhead guides than the actual game.


End file.
